


How 'bout that shower?

by trashwriter



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Aged up characters, Blow Jobs, Boys In Love, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Shower Sex, ambiguous future timeline, playful banter, ron is a literal dork, sick fic follow up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-07-11 18:01:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7064125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashwriter/pseuds/trashwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which true love conquers all. </p><p>(Including the last remnants of the common cold, but it totally had help from chicken soup with that one.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	How 'bout that shower?

Ron is watching Carl sleep over the top of his boyfriend’s dog-eared copy of Harry Potter in an effort not to be creepy that isn’t working out too well. It’s well past noon and the Grimes household have all been and gone by the time Carl actually starts to stir out of his soup induced coma. 

“Hey sleeping beauty, welcome back to the land of the living, well, sort of the land of the living,” Ron greets when those summer-sky eyes finally blink hazily open.

“Sleeping maybe, I don’t know about the beauty part.”

“You’re gorgeous,”

“I am literally encrusted with my own mucous right now. I’m disgusting,”

“I feel we’ve reached the point in our relationship that I can see through the mucous and appreciate the inner beauty,” Ron says loftily. 

“Well we’ve certainly reached the point in the relationship where I can see past your outer cheese right down to your gooey, melted inner cheese so I suppose anything’s possible.”

“I love you.” Ron says, with what he knows is heart-stopping, knee-melting, cavity inducing sincerity, and Carl shakes his head and gives him a careful caressing kiss, closed mouth on closed mouth--because Carl has a grudge against morning breath that doesn’t quit in sickness or in health. 

Ron reaches over to the nightstand and hands over a glass of water, and Carl swishes it around his mouth before swallowing with a grimace and knocking back the rest of the glass like it’s a shot. 

“What time is it?”

“A little past noon, how’re you feeling?”

Carl considers the question lifting his head and sniffing a bit. Eventually he shrugs and says: “Better.”

Ron presses a damp kiss against the corner of Carl’s jaw that is meant to be congratulatory but that brushes over that spot that makes Carl shiver. 

Whoops. That little reaction makes his dick twitch shamelessly. 

“Do you want some breakfast?” Ron asks rolling out of bed and stretching until his joints pop and his pants nearly slid off his skinny hips. “We’ve got powdered eggs and homemade salsa.”

“I’m not really hungry for eggs,” says Carl, digging his teeth into his lower lip, his eyes tracking the edge of Ron’s waistband hungrily. 

“Me neither,” admits Ron, “How about that shower?”

Carl makes a low noise in the back of his throat, and that noise, as always, lights a fire low in his belly.

“Yeah,” Carl agrees a bit breathlessly, “A shower sound great.”

He holds his hands out and Ron hauls him up out of the tangle of sheets and comforters and blankets and lets Carl sway his half naked body up against him and tow him down by his hair to nip at his bottom lip in a way that’s both affectionate and a goddamned tease. 

They hold hands on the way to the bathroom, fingers tangled together lazily as Carl tows Ron across the hall to what is fast becoming their bathroom. 

Carl makes a beeline for the sink and squeezes a more-than-generous helping of toothpaste onto their toothbrushes--and yes, okay, it’s time to admit it the shitty dentist toothbrush with the red grip is now also officially his toothbrush in ways that are more significant than just the fact that it lives in his mouth for three hundred seconds every other day-- handing Ron’s over in a way that brooks no argument. 

Even though the bathroom counter is one of those couples’ set ups with separate sinks and takes up the full length of one wall Ron still crowds right up behind Carl, helps the pair of them out of their pants with the stem of his toothbrush clenched between his teeth and spends the enforced five minutes of oral hygiene grinding his half-hard dick against the bare skin of Carl’s very fine ass and watching his reactions in the wall to wall mirror. 

And when the necessarily unsexy rinsing and spitting is done with--and Ron has surreptitiously double-checked to make sure that Carl is in fact steady enough on his feet to fool around in the shower without cracking his head open--Carl drags his sweat soaked t-shirt up over his head in a way that makes his hair stick up at impossible angles and  shouldn’t turn Ron on even more, but just  _ does. _

The fact that Carl knows this is evident in the smug sway of his hips as he outright saunters into the shower and flicks the water on to scalding. 

The great thing about the big open concept barrier free shower that was built into all of the Alexandria homes is that it’s stupidly easy to manoeuvre two people around in them. There’s plenty of space and the bench built into the tiled wall was basically built for leisurely shower sex. 

He and Carl have made a pretty thorough study of it too, so Ron feels qualified to make that statement. 

He takes a moment to admire the way the hot water sluices over the dips bracketing the base of his boyfriend’s spine as he soaps up a loofa, before the glass starts to fog over completely and he has to step inside if he wants to keep his view. 

Ron presses an open mouthed kiss to Carl’s shoulder as a sort of here-I-am and reaches for the shampoo bottle. His nipples pebble as they drag across Carl’s shoulder blades and Ron has to suck in a breath at the sensation because he does want to make this relaxing. 

He’ll wind Carl up and let him frantically throw him up against the nearest hard surface later on this week he promises himself, squeezing out a dollop of pearlescent fluid from the bottle that advertises for its volumizing properties, and scrubbing it slow and deep into Carl’s scalp. 

“Fuck,” Carl curses, groaning low and faintly pornographic as Ron digs his fingers in, alternating between scritching and massaging in a way that’s more about sensation than cleanliness. 

Carl seems to agree because he abandons his efforts with the loofa, drops it to the tile and drops his hand to his dick languidly stroking himself the rest of the way to full hardness, and taking Ron with him by way of some not-so-subtle grinding. 

“Rinse.” Ron orders hoarsely. 

Obediently Carl stands fully under the spray and lets Ron comb the suds out of his hair with his fingers, chasing the white froth along the dips and planes of his muscles and scraping his nails through the line of hair just below his navel.

Ron walks the backwards until the backs of Carl’s knees hit the shower bench and Carl drags him down for a deep drugging kiss that tastes of mint and a little of soap.

When they pull away Carl’s mouth is red and swollen and Ron kind of wants to dive back into it but he also is admittedly gagging for the weight of his cock on his tongue.

He slides to his knees in a motion that is also totally the result of much practice and many bruised kneecaps and hooks one of Carl’s legs over his shoulder spreading him open and taking a moment just to stare.

“Ron, fuck, man, you should see yourself right now,” Carl says. 

“Why would I wanna see myself when I could be watching you?”

Carl rolls his eyes.

“Seriously, I know what my dick looks like already. Me and my dick have been very well acquainted in the past, and now me and my dick are seeing other people.”

Carl smacks him for that one, “You are such a dork. Why do I put up with you again?”

Ron kisses the inside of his knee and tightens his grip on Carl’s thigh just a hair, grinning, “Brace yourself and find out,” he says breathlessly. 

Then he bends and just barely brushes the tip of his tongue over Carl’s slit, startling a yelp out of him. 

“Tease,” Carl accuses, groaning.

“If I was really a tease I wouldn’t follow through,” says Ron, licking his lips and swirling his tongue around the head. 

“Oh god,” sighs Carl euphorically as Ron swallows his way down his length, fisting his hand in the wet tangle of Ron’s hair. 

Ron relaxes his throat and lets Carl push him down a bit more, feeling his hips undulate beneath his hands for a long moment before pulling back to suck on just the head again. Humming lowly he sinks back down even more smoothly a second later, opening his mouth just a little wider and letting Carl set their rhythm. 

“Hah, are you just gonna let me fuck your perfect mouth like this?” he pants, rolling his hips restlessly against the bench. 

Ron hums his agreement, letting his eyes hood languidly and concentrating on his breathing and the heat and flex of Carl’s muscles beneath his hands.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck--” Carl moans. 

Ron fights the urge to grin, teeth are not often what legendary blowjobs need added to them after all, and instead he swallows around Carl’s length, running his thumbs over the crease of his thighs feather light and reverent. 

Its an intentional contrast to make Carl grit out a rough noise and shudder faintly against him, scraping blunt nails over his scalp and the nape of his neck, and making him not so quietly lose his mind. 

“When did you get so damn good at this?” he demands, not expecting an answer most likely, and fucking into Ron’s mouth now in earnest. 

Short powerful thrusts that Ron loves because they threaten to choke him but never actually do. Because really Carl is just as fucking good at this as Ron is and the sharp tug on his hair at just the right angle proves it by making Ron jerk his hips forward. 

He thinks he can feel himself starting to leak now in earnest, and he can definitely taste Carl on the back of his tongue.   

“I’m close,” Carl sighs, his thrusts already starting to lose their rhythm as he shudders in anticipation. 

And Ron can’t help the moan that escapes him as he finally, finally wraps a hand around his aching dick. Craning his neck so that he can watch Carl fall apart under a final practiced flick of his tongue. 

“Oh you little— _ shit _ !” gasps Carl haltingly, his head falling back against the tile of the shower even as his body went taut and Ron tastes the hot gush of cum spurting over his tongue and down the back of his throat. 

Ron pulls away with a gasp burying his face in Carl’s thigh as he comes in messy spurts over the back of his knuckles. 

After a long moment that Ron spends blinking the stars out of his eyes and letting Carl card his still-shaking hands through his hair the water starts to run cold and Carl groans when he has lever his body up the few inches to reach the knob and shut it off.

“I think you might have actually broken me this time,” he comments conversationally, palming over his softening dick and shuddering at the overstimulation, “My orgasm is having orgasms.”

Ron can’t help but grin into Carl’s kneecap, “So does that mean you're keeping me around, then?”

“Yeah, well, you might be a dork, but you’re  _ my _ dork,” Carl answers with a helpless shrug and a helplessly fond smile. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> the promised smutty sequel to Chicken Soup and Kisses, finished at last! Hope you all enjoyed :)


End file.
